


TFA Tracks Meets

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Crossover, G1, M/M, animated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rip in time has dropped our favourite, organic-fearing, dirt-hating corvette right into... wait, what? The original G1 universe? Oh well... this is gonna over fabulously...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**C.M.D: This is a somewhat older, and my first official crack at well, CRACK, fic that I ever wrote. And it of course involved my favourite TFA couple (who I wrote several other fics for before this, all of which need to be reposted). What I can't fathom is why this one was included in all the others that were pulled off of FF.net. Maybe the admins have a thing against humor?**

* * *

"I want my Soundwave!"

Denta gnashed at the irritating cry, helms turning from the unexpected guest to their Lord; expecting for him to take some sort of action. Megatron, seated in his throne, was busy rubbing fingers into the side of his helm, trying his very hardest not to simply lift his fusion cannon and shoot the intruder. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult to refrain.

"Be silent!," Starscream yelled back, wings hitched high with ire. "You useless, talking pile of scrap metal!"

Another set of white wings stiffened at the insults, blue optics narrowing behind frames up at the SIC. "Who are you calling trash, you over-sized blow horn!," the Autobot shot back. Half-choked laughter circled around the room. "You're so scuffed and, and square... Primus, and you call that horrendous noise coming out of your throat a voice?! At least I'm not somebody's last year model!"

"WHAAAAAT?!," the seeker screeched furiously.

"And those colours?," the other mech continued. "Seriously?"

"YOU HAVE THE EXACT SAME ONES!," Starscream screamed back.

"Starscream, mute it you fool!," Megatron roared, finally getting fed up with the vain argument taking place. The SIC flinched in terror, turning anxious optics to the tyrant. It didn't look like the gun-former was going to slag Starscream at this moment, despite how venomously he was looking at his loud-mouth seeker. Still, Starscream did not want to take any chances and quickly shuffled several inches away from the grey mech.

Growling lowly in his throat, Megatron turned his attentions to their unwanted visitor. "What," he hissed, "Is your designation, Autobot?"

The corvette straightened up, faceplates pinched with determination, though his wings still trembled a little behind him. "Y-you're different than the other one...," the multi-coloured mech mumbled vaguely.

"Your designation," the gun-former demanded again. "Before you try my patience too far."

The Autobot cycled a sharp intake, cocking his servos on his hips in a motion of false bravado. "The name is Tracks," he answered, " And I'm-"

"Impossible!," Rumble blurted out. Everyone present mumbled their own agreement, equally as confused.

"How can he be Tracks?," Blitzwing added, "I've seen that narcissist- we all have! He's nothing like this wanna-be femme here."

"Excuse me?!," the "fake" Tracks gasped indignantly. "I am much better than any femme, thank you very much! Now, I would like to see my Soundwave please! I know he fell through the portal with me."

Megatron lifted his fusion cannon, shooting towards the ceiling. Immediately, the crowd's chatter died down; helms -including the Autobot's- ducking in alarm. The Warlord continued his fierce glare at the corvette, though this time there was something more calculating in his gaze. "Portal, you say?," he asked, black fingers stroking his chin.

"Y-yes," Tracks stuttered slightly. "Optimus and his maintenance crew had launched an attack-"

"Wait, maintenance crew?," Skywarp interrupted rudely. Wings twitching with annoyance, Tracks turned his helm to the seeker.

"Yes, maintenance crew. They were stranded on Earth when the Megatron from my universe attacked their ship, attempting to get the All-Spark. He was going to use it to destroy the Elite Guard and once again take over Cybertron," the Autobot explained. "But I guess Optimus got lucky and both their ships took critical damage; Optimus and his team, along with a broken Megatron, fell into the activated Space bridge and ended up on Earth. Well, from there things got messy, and there was fighting and what not... The Elite Guard, along with the commander Ultra Magnus showed up to retrieve the All-Spark, but Optimus had shattered it to keep it out of Decepticon servos. Well, the Elite Guard wasn't happy to hear about that, I can tell you, and that Sentinel mech -real handsome fella actually; painted deep blue with such a thick chassis. Mmm, mmm, mmm!," Tracks trailed off, swooning slightly.

Coming out of it, he shook his helm, before continuing; totally unaware of the looks of revulsion he was receiving now. "In either case, Sentinel Prime mentioned something or other about Optimus being an Academy wash-out among other things. He was especially insistent on bringing up Optimus' demotion to space bridge maintenance and some sort of dirty past with an Elita-One... Don't have the full scoop on that one yet. The Elite Guard practically has it marked as top-secret. Anyways, yes, so Optimus was kicked out of the Elite Guard before he even fully finished his training and was charged as captain of a team; comprised of those two younglings Bulkhead and Bumblebee, the anti-social Prowl and that grumpy old medic Ratchet. Who by the way is such a naughty medbot. The rusting mech's gone and wrangled himself two very young, exuberant mechs. Jetfire and Jetstorm, if memory serves correct..."

"Not that I'm jealous or anything," Tracks added, tone rising slightly in askance. "But I mean, jets? The twins may be adorable things, but Autobots that can fly? Present self excluded, that's outrageous?! I mean, they have full-on aerial modes -no ground vehicle or nothing? That is, like, blasphemy to the Autobot way of life! Only Decepticons have aerial modes. And another thing-"

"Oh sweet Primus...," Dirge sighed from the back. "He's like another Bluestreak."

"Shut your trap, you over-waxed skidmark!," Wildrider shouted.

Tracks clicked his mouth shut at the insult, crossing his arms over his chassis haughtily. "How rude," he sniffed.

"So...," Megatron mused aloud, totally brushing off everything that had just taken place, aside from the corvette's long-winded gossiping. "Prime is a mere repair 'bot in your universe? How utterly fitting."

"And yet he still manages to defeat you even then, Oh Glorious Leader," Starscream added in snidely, cutting off the gun-former's pleasant daydreams. Snarling angrily, Megatron rose to his pedes, grabbing his second in command as he attempted to flee the wrath of the tyrant.

"Tell me, Autobot," the grey mech said, attention still fixed on the whimpering Starscream; fusion cannon pressed firmly to his chassis. "What about this traitorous, pathetic excuse for a 'bot? Is he still a thorn in my side?"

"Well...," Tracks started slowly, horribly fixated on the choke-hold that Megatron had Starscream in. He just couldn't turn his optics away! "Neither of you are really like the Megatron and Starscream I am familiar with. You are quite old, and a lot more business-like about what you do... Starscream, well, the personality is not so different but the paintjob is. Honestly, I think I prefer your grey and magenta colour scheme better than the one you've got. Though I can definitely live without the immortality bit..."

Megatron looked away from his floundering seeker alarmed. "What was that?"

"Huh? Oh, well, my Starscream is immortal," the corvette supplied. "A shard of the All-Spark fused with his body once you offlined him, and now nothing you do will keep the glitch offline. You know, it gets really annoying how often you beat him into deactivation, and just a klik later he's up and running again; spitting curses the entire way."

The tyrant shuttered his optics at the Autobot, before turning his attention back to Starscream still in his hold.

"S-see...?," the SIC choked, "E-even in a-another world you f-fail to offline m-me!"

Frowning, Megatron threw Starscream to the floor; kicking the jet in the aft and sending him flying off the podium with a surprised yip. Suddenly exhausted, the Warlord collapsed back in his throne. His servo rose to his helm again, rubbing into the plating as his processor-ache flared. "Anybody else?," he asked, almost hesitant.

Tracks shuffled on his pedes nervously. "Well, um, there is no one else that is immortal, if that is what you're referring to. As for soldiers, the ones directly under your command are Blackarachnia, Soundwave, Shockwave, Blitzwing and Lugnut. Starscream, of course, and his clones. Thundercracker: ego-maniac. Skywarp: coward. Slipstream: a very interesting femme. Dirge: Greedy as hell. Thrust: jealous little bugger. Ramjet: a continuous liar, and Sunstorm: an aft-kisser. Oh, and the constructicons, Mixmaster and Scrapper. Both of whom are complete idiots, by the way."

"You have others, I believe," Tracks mused, finger to his lip components in thought. "Not that I've ever seen them though. Otherwise, a couple of your consistent associates would be Lockdown, the bounty hunter, and Swindle, the universal arms dealer. Seriously, I'm glad those two found each other. That Swindle is such a skeeze-ball and Lockdown isn't any better!," the corvette added, cringing with disgust.

Silence reigned for a klik as the Autobot finished once more.

Then...

"I'm an arms dealer?! Cool!"

"A coward?! Are you fragging KIDDING ME?! That's Starscream's bit!"

"HEY! WE'RE NOT IDIOTS!"

"Jealous? Me?! Of WHO?!"

"Why the slag is Swindle the only one mentioned?! What about the rest of us combaticons?"

"CLONES?! I made CLONES of myself and they turned into THOSE FOOLS?!"

The wall of indignant yelling was overwhelming. Tracks clapped his servos about his audios tightly, scowling as the noise just seemed to increase despite his efforts. Megatron was merely trembling in his seat, his barely held control rapidly slipping from his grasp. The doors to the command room at that very moment decided to open, and catching sight of that vaguely familiar paintjob and build from the corner of his optic, Tracks hurriedly turned to the doorway, running to the entering 'bot.

"Soundwave!"

The corvette launched himself at the unsuspecting Decepticon, arms wrapping tightly around neck cables and frame pressing fully onto the other's. If that wasn't bad enough, Tracks pressed one big, fat kiss to the communications officer's mouth guard. Everything suddenly fell silent, all optics turned to the extremely stunned and squirming Soundwave.

"Soundwave...," Megatron growled from his throne. "What is the meaning of this?"

The tapedeck hurriedly pushed Tracks an arm's length away, turning his helm towards his Leader. "Q-query: not what it looks like," the telepath seemed to stutter in that monotone of his.

"Wh-what do you mean: 'not what it looks like?!'," Tracks choked in hurt. His tears were quick to dry when he noticed the difference between this mech and his own Soundwave. Blushing furiously, the corvette hurried to distance himself from the Decepticon.

"I-i'm so sorry!," the Autobot apologized. "I t-thought... I mean, everyone else just looks so different from t-the ones I know in my universe, and... well, slaggit, you both are so similar! Same vocalizer, paintjob, frame, visor... It's very confusing to a 'bot, you know?!" Huffing in embarrassment, Tracks crossed his arms over his chassis again, looking at the floor beneath his pedes.

The silence still had yet to lift.

"B-boss...," Rumble piped up quietly. "You alright?"

"You kissed a Decepticon...," Starscream mumbled in shock. Tracks lifted his helm slightly, glancing at the seeker.

"So?"

"You kissed a Decepticon," the SIC repeated. "You! An Autobot! With a Decepticon? And everyone says I'm glitched!"

"I am not malfunctioning!," Tracks retorted to the implied insult.

Vortex cackled from his corner of the room. "What was it then, huh? Was it 'trooo luuuurve'?"

"What's your point?," the corvette snapped, turning his helm in the direction of the voice. "I doubt you could satisfy anyone, you rusting, fractured piece of trash!"

Before things could escalate any further, suddenly the vid screen in the room flickered on. "Megatron?," Optimus voice drifted through the speaker. "Megatron, can you read me?"

"What is it now, Prime?!," the tyrant roared out, having lost his patience entirely. "Can't you see I'm busy?!"

"Uh, well...," the truck actually hesitated, clearing his intakes uncomfortably. "You see, um, well... Would you happen to have a 'Tracks' there by any chance?"

"Oh, you mean moi?," Tracks piped up, anger and embarrassment gone. The Autobot leader did a double-take on the monitor, shuttering his optics before actually wiping them with a servo. "Sweet Primus...," Optimus mumbled, "There really is another one..."

"Yes, yes," Megatron growled irritably. "There's apparently 'another one'. Now what do you want?!"

"Umm... well..."

Before he could get a word in otherwise, Soundwave -or a mech that looked near identical to him- stepped into view. "Demand: return of Tracks immediately. Reasoning: is of no significance to you."

"Soundwave!," Tracks chirped excitedly again, rushing up to the vid screen. "Oh darling, I missed you so much! I was so terribly worried when we fell through that nasty little hole, and I woke up, surrounded by all these nasty, mean thugs and with you no longer by my side. Are you okay? Have the Autobots done you any harm love? I won't be happy not one bit if they have."

"Negative," the other Soundwave replied. "Action: Tracks will come to the Ark, Autobot base. Will rejoin me. Search for way home in progress."

"A way home? You're speaking in terms of just our universe, aren't you?," Tracks asked. "Do you think those Autobots there can get us all the way back to Cybertron as well? Or, umm, something of a similar nature? I don't want to just go back to that dingy little ship again, orbiting about that filthy organic planet, love. Not that I mind it, I mean... Ooh, Starscream is being just such a fragger again, and I'm astroseconds away from tearing off that over-pompous glitch's wings from his back. Did you know what he did to me the other orn?! He purposely wedged cement in my wing joints! I mean, really, how immature can you get? I was only trying to give him some hints on how to properly maintain oneself..."

"Oh Primus," Hook groaned, "Please, would someone just shut him up!"

"Tracks: presence there an endangerment," Soundwave on the monitor said.

"Really?," the corvette shuttered his optics. "But... they're Decepticons, same as you. They even have some of the same mechs here as they do back home. Surely, there's nothing to fear."

"Fact: they are Decepticons. Explanation: Unnecessary." Soundwave's visor gleamed darkly as he gazed out at the other Decepticons on the Nemesis. "Action: Do not let your guard down."

His warning though had a bit of a different effect on Tracks. The Autobot leaned further on the console, looking up at his bondmate. "Awww... are you worried about me, my love? I'm greatly flattered. But, you know...," Tracks purred sultrily, "I can take care of myself, Big Boy."

Optics shuttered in disbelief all around the room. Blitzwing leaned a little closer to Astrotrain, whispering: "You know... from this angle, that Autobot actually looks quite..."

Astrotrain elbowed him hard in the gut, cutting off anything the other triple-change might have said.

Optimus returned on the screen quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. "Hey," Tracks whined, "Bring my handsome 'bot back!"

"Well, Megatron," the truck asked, completely ignoring the other Autobot. "Will you be merciful enough to release this Autobot back to us or do we-"

"Merciful!? By Unicron's brow, just take the slagging mech!" Megatron cried. "I can't stand to hear anymore of his stupid drivel! It's worse than Starscream's pathetic tirades of leadership!"

"Hey!," yelled the fore-mentioned seeker.

"Well, uh...," Optimus shuttered his optics again stupidly. That had been a lot easier than he had thought. "Right, well, um... bring him to shore and we'll take him from there."

"Whatever!," the tyrant replied flippantly. "Just be quick about it!" Rising to his pedes, Megatron cut the feed, quickly descending from his podium. "Soundwave, since your other half seems to be so beholden to this annoying 'bot, you can have the honours of taking him upstairs and shoving him off the flight deck. Let him swim to shore," the gun-former ordered, heading for the room's door.

"Swim? Wait, did he just say swim?" Tracks turned away from the monitor, looking down-right disturbed. "You mean in like, water? From Earth?"

"What the slag do you think he's talking about, dumbnode?," Rumble questioned.

"No," Tracks shook his helm vehemently. "No, no, no, no, no. No way! I refuse to even touch a drop of the disgusting liquid. All those foul creatures, with their slime and bacteria and grossiness, and those nasty humans with their squishy little organic functions and stuff... No! Nuh-uh! I am not going out there to be among their ...eurgh!" The corvette shivered, flicking his servos about his chassis as if he had something disturbing coating them. "I just hate those organics!"

"...Well," Thundercracker mused aloud, "Guess that answers the question of 'How the slag?'"


	2. Chapter 2

Tripping through a wormy, weaving mass of blue light and landing helm-first into an alternate dimension was not Soundwave's idea of a good day. Groaning, the communications officer tried to regain his equilibrium; slowly forcing himself up into a sitting position. The sound of something moving away skittishly brought the Decepticon to full alertness. Warily, he lifted his helm, scanning the room. He took in the circular shape of the area, lit with the light of various monitors and controls, before resting his gaze on the one 'bot in the room with him. Intakes hitching nervously, the Autobot looked down on him, blue optics flaring brightly upon a white face. But their light was nothing compared to the spastic sparking happening at the other mech's horns.

"...Inquiry: where ar-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! INFERNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

There was the crunch of metal being kicked in behind him, before everything was washed away in a sea of foam.

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"...you're Soundwave," Optimus said, looking down upon the squatter mech. The truck had his arms crossed over his chassis loosely, appearing arguably unbelieving behind his battle mask. "But you're not Soundwave..."

"Information: faulty," Soundwave replied. He was trussed up tightly to a chair, circled by a gaggle of Autobots. Each looked at him suspiciously, as if expecting the Decepticon to suddenly do something. Well, more so attack them. "Fact: not from this universe. Reasoning: Not your Soundwave."

"But yeh're Soundwave," a red mech spoke up, vocalizer strained by his southern accent. "Gonna 'splain 'ow yeh got pas' Red Alert's sec'rity 'ere, Decepticreep?"

"Answer: non-applicable."

"Why, Ah oughtta-"

"Woah, chillax, Iron'ide," the slimmer black and white Autobot said. He swaggered forward bravely, leaning close to the bound communications officer. "I gotta say, Prime. If he ain't 'or Soundwave, then he's gotta be someone else. I mean, jus' look at the mech! The build be slightly diff'rent... An' it take more than a clev'r Decepticon ploy 't git past 'or Red's security."

"Ah still say it's 'im," Ironhide grumbled, crossing his arms over his chassis as well.

"Jazz... are you certain?," Optimus asked skeptically. "Appearing in the middle of the security hub is no easy feat, but I wouldn't entirely put it past Megatron to somehow have discovered a way to infiltrate our base and sabotage its main line of defense."

The saboteur just grinned, glancing back at the Autobot leader momentarily. "'Ey, oth'r Soundwave," he started cheerfully, "Ya got Ravage runnin' 'bout on the loose 'ot there?"

Soundwave frowned behind his battle mask. "Designation: unidentifiable."

"Well, there ya go," Jazz said, turning to face his comrades cockily. "Decepticon or not, Soundwave nev'r would deny the existence o' his own creations. The 'con has his whole spark fixat'd on those lil' pit-spawn."

Prowl frowned. "That's entirely illogical, Jazz."

"But not entirely false," Optimus spoke up, siding with the Special Ops officer. The truck turned his attention back to the communications officer. "Saying that I do believe you... who exactly are you and how did you get here?"

"Designation: Soundwave. Point of origin: alternate universe."

"Well... that was helpful," Prowl whispered snidely. Jazz pouted, squatting before the Decepticon. "C'mon mech!," the saboteur whined. "Couldn't ya be a lil' more coop'rative."

Soundwave merely glanced at Autobot, before turning his helm back to Optimus. "Inquiry: Where is Tracks?"

Frames tensed about the room. "What purpose do you have with him?," Optimus asked lowly, straightening up further before the Decepticon. If this Soundwave -whether from an alternative reality or not- meant any harm to his troops, then the truck would be quick to stand in his way. Noticing the tension that had quickly arose, Soundwave's gaze darkened, the mech's monotonous vocalizer developing just the slightest chill.

"Demand: Bring Tracks to me. Now."

Jazz's pout turned into a full-out scowl. "Prime, sir," he started, rising to his pedes. "I think it's 'bout time we escort'd this prison'r 't the brig. We can int'rogate him lat'r."

"I think you are right, Jazz," Optimus agreed. Ironhide cracked his knuckles eagerly, moving forward to grab Soundwave. The communications officer did not take kindly to this though, and leaned forward in his bonds. "Fact: is not of your world. Tracks: from my universe as well. You shall not keep him from me."

All movement stopped at that. "Wait a sec'...," Jazz gaped. "Ya weren't talkin' 'bout 'or Tracks then?"

"Correct," Soundwave replied, tone still terse. "Tracks: fell through wormhole with me. From same universe as I. Demand: Want to see him now."

"Uh...," all mechs present looked toward Optimus. "Sir, ya wouldn't 'ave remember'd seein' a second Tracks in all that foam, would ya?," Jazz asked.

"Ironhide, go to Teletraan I and have him search the area for Tracks' energy signature. Prowl, in the meantime, bring Tracks here, if he's returned from his patrol yet. Jazz," Optimus ordered, turning to the Special Ops officer, "I need you to dispatch a video feed to the Nemesis, if you'd please."

"Sir?," the saboteur questioned.

"If this Soundwave ended up here, in the heart of the Ark," the truck explained, "Then there's a good chance that the other Tracks ended up at the Decepticon's base."

"Yes. A'ight, I'll git right on it, sir!," Jazz saluted, dashing off after Ironhide to the main control room.

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"So... what's it like where you're from?"

"Jazz..."

"Aww, c'mon Prowler. I'mma only askin' a question. 'Sides, don't ya really want 't know what it's like in this alternate dimension?"

"Honestly, no..."

Pouting, Jazz turned away from the SIC. "So, 'ey... c'mon. Tell meh somethang." He poked Soundwave, hoping to get a reaction out of him. He was, again, dutifully ignored. "Mech, ya sure are bo-"

"Megatron? Megatron, can you read me?" All helms turned toward the front, where Optimus was speaking into Teletraan I; attempting to connect with the Decepticon Leader. A replying roar met their audios, before visual feed kicked in. Uncertainly, Optimus continued. Imagine everyone's surprise when another Tracks answered to the enquiry of his own whereabouts.

"Oh, slag!," Jazz hissed in disbelief. "Soundwave wasn't kiddin' when he said he came from anoth'r universe."

Soundwave quickly moved forward, shoving Optimus out of the way. "Demand: return of Tracks immediately," he ordered through the screen. "Reasoning: is of no significance to you."

"Darling!," Tracks exclaimed loudly on the other end.

"Are ya okay, Prahme? Th't no-good, dirt-munching, Decepticon creep 'ad no right ta-"

"I'm okay, Ironhide. I assure you. Soundwave's just... was a little eager to confirm Tracks' safety."

"A little eager, sir?," Jazz commented, catching the end of 'I can take care of myself, Big Boy' from the Tracks on screen. "Ya might wanna int'rvene, sir, before ol' Megsy blows a gasket."

Optimus shuffled nervously. "Right, yes. Well..." He quickly pushed Soundwave out of the way again, gently, before resuming control of the conversation. The Decepticon might not have looked it, but the temperature dropped to the low digits in the room at the action.

"'Ey, c'mon," Jazz chuckled nervously, coming up to the pissed off communications officer. "Prime knows what he's doing. 'Ow 'bout we get ya some energon, while Prime works on gettin' Tracks back, hmm? An' ya can tell meh all 'bout yer universe, yea?"

Soundwave remained resolutely silent.

"Slag...," Jazz pouted.

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"TRAITOR!"

"Aww, calm down, Cliffjump'r," Jazz groaned. "No 'bots' a trait'r."

"Then what do you call that?!," the red minibot demanded, pointing a finger to the silent Soundwave standing behind the saboteur.

"Mech, he's from anoth'r dimension. He's got no beef wit' us here."

"Lies... all lies..."

"Umm, I think Cliffjumper's right, you know? I mean, it's a little unnerving and how do you know that this isn't simply Soundwave trying to say he's someone else so he can get inside the Ark and like, dismantle us or something? I mean, I wouldn't want that to happen, but I mean, how can you be sure right? Surely, Optimus has his reasons, but as a crew, we've got a right to be concerned, and we've been fighting the Decepticons for a long time and-"

"Woah, woah, woah Blue!," Jazz said, cutting the gunner off. "Now listen: I und'rstand ya mechs not be fancy 't the idea of a Decepticon bein' on base, roamin' freely. But, until we can find a way 't git Soundwave and Tracks home, they'll be stayin' wit' us here."

Choked spluttering came from the back of the rec room. "E-excuse me?!," Tracks coughed, turning to face the saboteur. The corvette froze, noticing that every single pair of optics were on him now.

"TRAITOR!"

"Fact: not my Tracks."

"Yo, chill, Cliff!," Jazz sighed. He waved his servos apologetically to Tracks. "Yea, sorry too mech. We're talkin' 'bout the oth'r Tracks, from oth'r Soundwave's dimension."

"O-oh... oh, yes, because that's a great comfort...," Tracks muttered to himself.

"In fact, they should be here any klik now! Sunstreak'r and Sideswipe were sent 't go collect 'or wayward friend."

"Woah, what!? We're getting _another_ Tracks!?," Huffer shouted in disbelief.

"And I think that's my cue to leave," Tracks said to no one in particular, quickly bolting from the room.

"Awww, c'mon mech!," Jazz whined after him. "Dontcha wanna meet yer oth'r self?" He leaned back, looking at Soundwave. "Yo, mech, do I got mehself anoth'r meh in yer universe too?"

"...affirmative," Soundwave answered slowly. Jazz punched the air with a crow of delight. "Sweet!"

"Jazz, brother. This utterly whacked, mech. I mean-"

"DECEPTICON!" There was the hard crunch of metal as Sideswipe turned into the room, sensors picking up Soundwave's presence and immediately lashing out at the Decepticon. Caught off-guard by the assault, Soundwave took the servo to the face fully, being knocked backwards and to the floor.

"H-holy frag, 'Sides," Jazz cried. "D-didn't Prowler tell ya mechs 'bout 'or unexpect'd guest when he comm'd ya?!"

"Umm... oops?," the red warrior mumbled.

Everybody in the rec room began backing up as Sunstreaker strode through the doorway.

"What in the slag- Decepticon?! Raargghh!" The yellow twin went to go strike the communications officer, when a chair was suddenly smashed into the back of his helm; loud shriek permeating the air as the furniture gouged into his paintjob.

"Leave Soundwave alone, you daffodil!"

Optics shuttered disbelieving as all 'bots present took in the Autobot standing in the doorway behind the Twins. Blue optics, red faceplates, white wings... for all intent and purposes, it truly looked like there was another Tracks standing right before them.

"You... you scratched my paint," Sunstreaker mumbled in shock.

"Yeah, and I'll do much more than that if you ever lay a servo on Soundwave again!," Tracks growled back, wings hitched high irritably.

"Why I oughtta-!"

"Woah! Chillax Sunstreak'r!," Jazz cried, grabbing the lamborghini before he could lunge for the corvette. Tracks ignored the looming threat of the angry warrior, quickly dashing for Soundwave, who had yet to lift himself from the floor after being punched.

"Oh, darling," Tracks gasped, falling to his knees before the other mech. "Look at what they've done to you!" He carefully cupped the Decepticon's cheek vents, stroking the dented metal softly with a thumb. "See, this is why I don't like the Autobots. They're ever so vicious. Not that the Decepticons are any better really..."

"Tracks..."

"I mean, you'll never believe what they did to me! They threw me, THREW ME, off the flight deck! They didn't even allow me to transform and fly to shore. No, no, no, they just shoved me right off and into that nasty, organic water and-"

"Tracks..."

"Now I'm covered in all sorts of filth and I really need a shower. But I wasn't minding it so much, because the two mechs there were being of the nicest company... sort of. Of course, that changes now that they've hurt you. I mean, how utterly rude is that! And, well, I suppose I'll be glad to go home eventually...

"...Tracks..."

"Dealing with Starscream is a bit of an easy feat. At least he doesn't attempt to lay even one scratch on you. But I suppose we can worry about things like that another day. Right now, we've got to get you fixed up, my love!"

Soundwave did not protest the kiss Tracks felt necessary to press to his mouth guard. He did, however, turn a glare to the present mechs gawking at the pair. "Inquiry: _what?,_ " he growled, as their shell-shocked gazes persisted.

Tracks shuttered his optics, looking back at the others. Everybody had gone stock still, jaws wide open, and, in a couple cases, starting to fritz. Leaning in a little closer, the corvette whispered into Soundwave's audio, "I wonder what's got them so bugged..."

The Decepticon did not answer, winding an arm about Tracks' waist and keeping him close. His glare had yet to disappear.

"So...," Tracks hummed, looking at the Autobots coolly. "Could someone direct us to the closest medbay, or do we have to find it ourselves? Oh, and the showers as well. I really, really need to get clean, darling," he explained to Soundwave.

"Wh-WOAH!" Jazz croaked as he was suddenly crushed by the weight of Sunstreaker, the yellow warrior falling directly on the saboteur as he crashed. Struggling to get out from the Twin's bulky frame, the black and white mech stared at the odd couple with a sullen pout on his face.

"A'ight, now ya really need 't tell me what yer universe is like!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Let me get this straight, you want me to- I SAID DON'T TOUCH THAT!" Ratchet whirled away from Jazz, smacking at the servos getting to close to his terminal. Again. Yipping slightly, Tracks retracted his servos, rubbing them gently to get rid of the sting inflicted upon them by the medic.

"Geez... This Ratchet is even more of a grump than the one back home," the corvette pouted.

"So, wait, ya gotta Ratchet there too?," Jazz asked, intrigued. He shook his helm, trying to remain focused. "Umm, I mean, yea, ya gotta fix him Ratchet. Prime's ord'rs, ya see."

"I still don't see how they," the CMO jabbed a thumb in Tracks' and Soundwave's direction, "Even managed to get here in the first place! Are you sure that Wheeljack just didn't mess up some sort of experiment of his, giving these two new forms and... personalities."

"Absolutely not, my mech," Jazz replied, shaking his helm. "We both 'ave seen the real Soundwave and Tracks now. Ain't nothing diff'rent wit' 'em."

Grumbling, Ratchet glanced at the two other mechs. "...I don't like it. Not one bit."

"And I don't particularly like you either," Tracks quipped, catching the medic's words. "But you know, I think I may be a bit more forgiving to this version of you." The corvette winked, plastering on a sultry smile. "You're all sorts of lovely angles and white hips, even despite your squareness. And your bedside manner is a lot more charming with you being younger."

Ratchet cringed, both from the subtle flirtation and the glare he was suddenly getting from the Decepticon. "Mute it, before I disable your vocalizer!," he threatened, circuits crackling uneasily.

"Ooh... even his threats are the same!"

"Really?," Jazz piped. "'Ey, could ya tell meh more. I admit I'm a lil' int'rest'd 'bout the diff'rences in yer world."

"Well, I'll tell you," Tracks grinned, eager to gossip.

"Hey, what have I said about gossip in my medbay!"

"Just pretend that you don't hear us," the corvette replied, waving a servo carelessly. "Anyways, I suppose in a sense things are the same here as back home for us. A small group of Decepticons and Autobots stranded on Earth, duking it out, blahhdy blahhdy blah blah... We've got an Optimus too, bit of a weak thing. I'd have to say almost a downer. He kinda doubts himself a lot. Gets pathetic after a while."

"Really?," Jazz gasped, leaning in closer. "I couldn't imagine Prime bein' that way!"

"I know right? Most of the mechs with Prime status are head-strong, if not confident. But, that's aside from the point. Ratchet -the one we've got back home," Tracks continued, "Is the oldest mech on the team. He's been about since the beginning of the Great Wars apparently. Broke a leak or something during then and retired. Don't entirely know the back story on that either... the Elite Guard has that info totally locked behind massive firewalls. Anyways, he's a mean ol' grouch with a penchant for grumbling, and surprisingly, a nasty back-hand as well."

"Excuse me?!"

"Oh, and did I forget to mention, he's kinda let himself go. I mean," the winged mech held his servos up innocently. "I don't want to judge, but he's gotten a little lax in the chassis you know. He slouches a fair amount too, and doesn't even bother to wax himself! Yet, despite all that he's busy 'facing two younglings into the next century!"

"E-EXCUSE ME?!"

"Woah...," Jazz whistled. "Names?"

"Jetfire and Jetstorm. Twins," Tracks supplied.

"Huh... Well, we've got a Skyfire. But in terms of twins... well, yev already met 'em," the saboteur informed, looking off to the side.

"Really?," the corvette frowned. "Who?"

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

"Those mechs are TWINS?! But, t-they're not even alike or have the same paintjob! Well... Jetfire and Jetstorm don't either, but..."

"Well, they aren't that bad," Jazz tried defending the warriors. "I mean, a lil' cranked up, but nothin' too 'ot o' the ordinary. Yer's lamborghinis too?"

"Oh, Primus no! I wish... No, they are in fact, jets. The only ones of their kind. Autobots just don't do aerial modes. That's a Decepticon trade-mark."

"Seriously?," the Special Ops officer asked. "'Cause, we've got a whole squad o' aerial 'bots on 'or side."

"Oh, you poor, poor mech...," Tracks cooed, patting Jazz's shoulder pityingly. "I feel for you, I truly do."

"Umm..."

"For the love of all that is- Would you please shut up!," Ratchet roared, slamming his tools down onto a tray. "Primus! And I thought Tracks was bad before!"

The corvette perked at the words. "Oh, you've got a Tracks here too? Well, makes sense. Hey, how many 'bots has he slept with?"

"How many- Now why would we know something like that?!," the CMO spluttered, cheekplates darkening with his blush. "What are you some sort of over-charged pleasure model!?"

"I beg your pardon!," Tracks gasped, askance. "I am most certainly not!"

"Inquiry: why would you need to know then?," Soundwave asked. The Decepticon looked at the Autobot enviously. "Change of Query: how many 'bots have you slept with?"

"Oh, well," Tracks mumbled, fidgeting nervously. "Not that many. And certainly none since I've been with you, love. I, uh, just wanted to compare histories is all."

"More like keep score," Jazz snickered lightly in the background.

"B-besides!," the corvette protested, purposefully turning away from Soundwave's piercing gaze. "It's not like I've done anything out of the norm. This medic here is the one that's been using his so called 'skills' in a most unorthodox fashion! I heard he even used the endoscope on the two jets!"

Jazz laughed outright at the exclamation. "W-wow, Ratchet," the saboteur choked through his mirth. "D-didn't know ya were so kinky. W-wait 'ti-til I tell Wheeljack."

Ratchet gaped idly before screaming in frustration and stomping towards his office. "O-oh, Ratchet. Aww, c'mon!," Jazz called, trying to wipe the coolant out from underneath his visor. "We were only teasin'! Ratchet... ya still gotta fix Soundwave up!"

"Tell the 'con to go fix his own fragging dents!," the medic screamed through the locked door. "I've got better things to do!"

"Like what?," Tracks asked snidely.

There came an answering crash from the other side of the door, followed by a series of lesser, quieter bangs. "Ummm...," Jazz said, laughter starting to die down fully. "I, uh, guess that means he's busy. I'll get, um, First Aid 't come fix ya up."

"Hmmmm... yes, that'll be fine," the corvette responded. "But, in the meantime, would you be so kind as to direct us to the washracks please, Jazz? I must get the sand and whatnot out from my seams."

"Oh, yea, umm, sure," the saboteur mumbled. "This way." He got up to leave the medbay, glancing warily at the office where sounds of chaos could still be heard from within. Tracks made to follow him, Soundwave close on his heels.

"Inquiry: how many?," the Decepticon repeated his earlier question.

Tracks sighed. "Honestly, darling, not that many."

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"Wait... so Ratchet is currently locked in his office at the moment?" Wheeljack shuttered his optics at the saboteur, glancing from the mech, to the doorway, and back. "Shouldn't I go and do something then?"

"Truthfully Wheeljack," Jazz grinned wryly. "I think if ya even tried 't step into medbay right now, ol' Hatchet would send ya back 't yer creator in a box. Tracks kinda made the mech go 'zoinkers', as the humans say."

"Right... and this is the other Tracks we're talking about, right? Not the one that we know?"

"If it weren't for the build mech, ya would hardly notice the diff'rence."

"Scary," Wheeljack said, shaking his helm. "Say, where are our two 'guests'?"

"Hmm? Oh, right, well I was gonna comm First Aid 't come an' pound 'ot the dents on Soundwave that Sunstreak'r made, but Tracks was adamant that he git himself clean'd up. Guess the sea wat'r bother'd him a lot more than he let on. So, hospitable mech that I am show'd the two of 'em where 't go."

The engineer laughed. "Yeah, you're real hospitable Jazz. What would Prowl think if he found out that you'd ditched those two to come here?"

"Well, I don't see 'ow it'd be a problem," Jazz pouted. "'Sides, tour's not ov'r yet, Chuckles. I was thinkin' 'bout bringin' those two 't come see the lab."

Wheeljack's laughter died down immediately. "Please tell me your joking," the engineer begged. "I mean, not to say that I don't mind our Tracks but if this one is good at pushing Ratchet into a screaming fit- which, mind you, after all these years dealing with the Twins he's built up an amazing tolerance- I really don't want to have to deal with whatever mayhem might follow him into my labs. Especially when... well," Wheeljack mumbled in embarrassment. "You know, my reputation and all."

The engineer made a queer gesture with his servos, one that Jazz realized after a klik was him trying to demonstrate his penchant for having things blow up. "Ah, c'mon, Wheeljack!," Jazz cackled. "I'm sure nothin's gonna 'xplode! 'Specially not wit' Percept'r 'round."

"Mhmmm... yeah... we'll see about that...," the other mech muttered under his intakes.

Before the saboteur could comment on that, the communal frequency crackled to life. "Umm... Jazz, sir?," came First Aid's soft voice. "You said you had a minor repair job for me?"

Jazz lifted a servo to his commlink. "Sure thang, my mech," the Special Ops officer grinned. "Soundwave an' Tracks should still be in the washracks, there. Pop on by an' give them a servo."

"But, umm...," the little medic's voice replied. "Sir, I'm at the washracks and I don't see anyone..."

"WHAT?!." The frequency crackled loudly as Red Alert jumped on it, the hysteric lamborghini's intakes working double-time. "Jazz, how could you be so careless! You can not let these trespassers run around freely! Why are you not with them?! What if they're in the control room, or down by the labs, or worse on their way to the security hub, planning to dismantle me and hack into my systems, to which they'll later-"

"Woah, Red!," Jazz cried. "I'm tellin' ya both. Tracks an' Soundwave aren't gonna harm anybot. An' I doubt that they've left the washracks yet. First Aid why don't ya take another peek? Maybe they're near the back, usin' the good hose."

"Well... okay, sir," First Aid answered. There was the furious tapping of fingers against keys, and it was no guess to what Red Alert was currently doing on his end of the conversation. "Oh!," the medic gasped. "I think I do see them there, Jazz. But well... o-oh... oh my..."

"First Aid..."

"Th-they're, umm... I-i-i-i d-don't want to disturb them from..."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT THOSE WASHRACKS ARE FOR!," Red Alert screeched indignantly. "INFERNO! INFERNO, GET THEM OUT OF THERE NOW! STOP FORNICATING IN PUBLIC AREAS! STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!"

Jazz couldn't help the chuckles that arose. Just about everybody across the Ark heard that.

"Oh, Primus...," Wheeljack groaned, smacking his helm onto the table. "And they have to come to my lab next?"

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"Yes, and so the washracks are not supposed to be used for those... umm... purposes," Optimus finished lamely.

Tracks, busy checking his fingers, looked up as the Autobot leader finished speaking. "Oh, did you say something?," he asked innocently. Optimus lifted a finger, but sighing, decided it wasn't worth the effort. Guessing that he was dismissed from the unnecessary lecture, the corvette turned to Soundwave, who was currently being fixed up by First Aid.

The medic blushed and fumbled his tools when he noticed the other Autobot's attention on them, apologizing profusely to the Decepticon for his clumsiness. "Awww... how adorable," Tracks cooed, sashaying to the pair. "You never change, First Aid."

Soundwave turned his helm. "Inquiry: you know this mech?"

"Well, I know the other one," Tracks shrugged.

"Just 'ow many of us are there?," Jazz asked, seeming to pop out of nowhere. Tracks flinched at the unexpected appearance.

"...you're weird," he said, staring at the saboteur anxiously. Jazz's visor flickered as he blinked owlishly behind it.

"Tell me?" He poked the corvette. "Please?"

Poke.

Poke. Poke, poke.

"Alright!," Tracks snapped, waving at the digits. "Stop poking me already!"

"Status: That's what I'm here for."

Jazz smirked. "Oh, I bet that's what yer here fo'."

"S-sir!"

"Sorry, First Aid."

"Well, out of all the mechs I know, there is a Rodimus Prime, Brawn, Hot Shot, Red Alert-"

"So, you do 'ave a Red Alert too!," Jazz exclaimed excitedly.

"Urghh...kinda," Tracks answered, shaking his servo slightly. "Ours is, well, a medic and a femme. ...And not crazy."

"I heard that!" The commlink squeaked. All cameras in the room turned, their lenses zooming in and focusing on the corvette. "Don't think that I'm not watching you," Red Alert added creepily.

"Yes...," Tracks hummed. "Utter nut job. Let's see... there's also a Beachcomber, Warpath, Sea Spray, Rattletrap, Botanica, Wheelie, Powerglide, Mirage, Cosmos, Cliffjumper, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Prowl-"

"Wait!" Jazz cut off the winged Autobot a second time.

"What?," Tracks huffed.

"...Are meh an' Prowl a couple?"

The corvette pondered on it for a second. "Yes, memory says that you are."

The saboteur shouted to the heavens jubilantly. "Ya," he chirped, slinging an arm about Tracks' shoulders, "Are meh new fav'rite mech here!"

Tracks smirked, wings fluttering at the flattery. "Happy to oblige, love."

Soundwave, unnoticed, fumed from behind the two Autobots.


	4. Chapter 4

"And this here is the matrix generator, that Wheeljack and myself are currently working on. Calculations show that if we are able to sustain the time temporal frequencies, duplicate to the ones that brought you here in the first place, then we just may be able to create a gateway back to your own plane... and... send you... back... home...," Perceptor trailed off a little, as he noticed his audience of one was no longer paying him any attention.

"Soundwave, is everything alright?"

The Decepticon was currently looking back at Wheeljack and Tracks across the room; at the direct question, he turned his helm slightly, glancing at the scientist.

"You...umm... s-seem distracted by s-something."

"Negative," Soundwave replied. "Request: continue."

"Y-yes, well...," Perceptor mumbled, trying to get back on task.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH THAT!"

"You've been saying that about everything in this room. So then what am I allowed to touch?"

"NOTHING!"

"Oh, but what about you~?"

"O-oh dear...," Perceptor sighed, realizing that he would never finish his speech. Soundwave glowered darkly as he turned away from the red Autobot, heading over to where the two other mechs were continuing to make a fuss.

"Inquiry: What are you doing?"

"Soundwave," Tracks smiled, turning to face the Decepticon. His lip components were quick to form a pout though. "Wheeljack here refuses to let me see any of his gadgets, and won't answer any of my questions. I'm merely being curious but he's being so obtuse to my genuine intrigue."

"Curious?!," Wheeljack gaped, helm fins flashing bright yellow. "You were trying to turn on a half-finished proton manipulator -that had no core regulator! Who knows what would have happened!?"

"Well, I might have known that if you had answered me when I asked what it was the first time," the corvette scowled, facing the engineer again. "Besides, what would it have done other than possibly explode? It's not like _that_ hasn't happened before."

Wheeljack fell into a stunned silence.

"P-perhaps we should c-call it a day?," Perceptor tried to intervene. "It's been long and eventful, and I'm sure you both could use some recharge after all your ordeals. And Wheeljack could possibly use a refuelling as well-"

"YOU SAYING I'M INCOMPETENT OR SOMETHING!?"

"O-oh dear..."

"I BUILT THE FRAGGING DINOBOTS! I MADE A MATTER REPLICATOR! I'VE SAVED AUTOBOT SKIDPLATE AND TRASHED DECEPTICON AFT MORE TIMES THAN YOU CAN COUNT!"

"And in between all that, you've made every little thing go boom, bang and kablooie," Tracks replied flippantly.

"WHERE'S MY EGG-BEATERS!?," the engineer roared, turning to the mass of stuff piled on his work table; throwing things aside in his desperate quest for the fore-mentioned object.

"Wheeljack, please, do not be so hasty!," Perceptor cried in alarm. The scientist attempted to stop his friend, but Wheeljack simply pushed him to the side, lifting some sort of device in his servos and turning to the corvette.

Soundwave moved to stand before Tracks, but the red Autobot beat him to it. "Wheeljack, please be reasonable!," Perceptor begged, arms thrown out wide as he stood between the two mechs. "He is only stating what he knows, from the Wheeljack of his universe!"

"Not like there's much difference...," Tracks muttered lowly.

"I'M GONNA TEAR YOU A NEW PORT!"

"Wheeljack!"

"Yo! What's going on here?"

All helms turned as Sideswipe walked through the doors, Sunstreaker at his heels. "What do you think you're doing?," the yellow warrior growled.

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF-!" Wheeljack threw his hands up in the air, tossing aside the strange device he was carrying. "DOES NO ONE CARE FOR THE NO TRESPASSING SIGN?!"

"We heard noises," Sideswipe said coldly. He came up and grabbed Perceptor, pulling the scientist to his chest as he glared at Tracks and Soundwave. "We just had to come and see what was going on."

Copying the red lamborghini's motion, Soundwave drew Tracks closer, glaring back at the Autobot. "So, you mean, you're with these two?," Tracks gasped, not paying attention to the sudden tension in the room. "My, my, my Perceptor... I never would have guessed a cute, little thing like yourself was with these two big, rough and tumble bad boys. I'd for sure thought you were with Wheeljack here as well."

"Excuse me?!," Sunstreaker snarled. He turned on the sullen engineer. "Have you been doing anything to our Perceptor?!"

"Oh, to the fragging pit- No I haven't, dumbafts!," Wheeljack yelled back. "I'm bonded to Ratchet, remember!? And I ain't about to commit suicide by having a romp with him -even if I wasn't happy with my bondmate!"

"So you do want him!," Sideswipe shouted accusingly.

"P-please, do-don't fight!"

"Really now, I don't see why you couldn't all just share him anyways."

Three glares turned to the corvette. "SHUT UP!"

"Well of all the...," Tracks scowled, crossing his arms over his chassis. "You're all so very rude. Honestly, I think I prefer my Wheeljack and Perceptor better. Even with the exploding and metallic voice and emotion inhibitors and the like."

"Emotional inhibitors?," Perceptor mumbled through the chaos still happening about him.

"Inquiry: How many of these Autobots do you know?"

"Hmmm?," Tracks looked up at the Decepticon. "Well, not a lot personally, per say. But a lot of them are regular faces around Cybertron for their achievements. Especially Perceptor. He's leader of the Science Guild and holds a very influential, power seat on the Council."

"L-leader? O-oh my... I would not be suitable to receive such an honor! I m-mean..."

"What?! You're totally worthy of that title!," Sideswipe protested.

"Wait -what am I then?!," Wheeljack frowned, forgetting his own anger at the twins to speak his own piece at this shared news. "Why is Perceptor leader of the Science Guild?"

"You," the corvette smirked, "Are really nothing more than an assistant to Perceptor. Though you can't complain too much, since nobody gets the privilege to both frag him and build his inventions."

Wheeljack was too stunned to say anything. The Twins though, were quite vocal once more at this fact. Squirming uncomfortably as he was passed over to Sunstreaker, Perceptor tried to remain focused on their guests. "S-so... Soundwave does not k-know many mechs, whether Decepticon or Autobot?," he asked.

"Well, no...," Tracks answered, smiling wryly. "He's a young mech, created by Megatron while the tyrant was back on Earth. He's only seen the few Autobots there; Decepticons as well. Hasn't even seen our lovely home Cybertron yet, my poor boy." The corvette reached up and patted Soundwave on the cheek vent as he said this.

"Truly?," Perceptor gasped. "Soundwave is Megatron's creation?"

The two warriors snorted at that revelation. "Wow... and you were making fun of other people's interfacing habits? At least we're not fragging a sparkling!"

"Tracks, you continue to amaze me with your need to 'face...," Wheeljack commented dryly.

"I take offense to that!"

"You should!," three voices snarled back.

"Now, see here- ack! Soundwave!" Glowering, Soundwave lifted Tracks up, slinging the Autobot over a shoulder and marching to the exit; ignoring the other mech's squirming and aghast cries "Darling, put me down please! Really... I am quite able to walk! And just where are you taking me anyways?!"

"Answer: to the rec room for refuel. Visit: over."

"Ah, Soundwave..." the corvette pouted, as the two finally left.

"Thank Primus," Wheeljack mumbled, turning to his work table and collapsing into a chair.

"Umm..."

"Sideswipe, Sunstreaker -feel free to take Perceptor back to your quarters and frag him senseless. Whatever will get you out of my lab fastest..."

"Yes sir!," was the eager response.

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

Perceptor was tired.

Staggering slightly, the scientist continued to stumble down the hallway, intakes heavy. He seriously needed to recharge after the invigorating activities Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had just put him through... but he knew that if he didn't refuel first before recharging, then his systems would be aching all the next orn from the near burn-out. As it was, both of his lovers were currently knocked out back in their room, fast asleep. Otherwise they would have gladly gone and grabbed a cube for the scientist themselves.

Entering into the rec room, Perceptor was surprised to see Tracks slumped over a table, deep in recharge. His Decepticon companion, Soundwave, was nowhere to be found. Shuffling nervously in place, Perceptor wondered if he should wake the other Autobot or leave him alone. He realized soon after that there was nowhere he could direct Tracks to anyhow if he roused him from recharge, and the mech just might possibly be cranky when woken. Either that, or he would continue his flirtations from earlier. Both were things that, admittedly, the scientist did not wish to deal with right now.

As silently as he could, Perceptor headed over to the energon dispenser; quickly pouring himself a cube before turning and hurrying from the room. He was down the hall and just around the corner when he caught Soundwave coming down from the other end. Curious, the scientist stopped, watching from around the corner as the Decepticon entered the rec room.

He knew he should have not been so nosy, but really, Perceptor was just as fascinated as unnerved by these other-worldy counterparts. What, he wondered, were they like when no one was watching? How did they interact with each other, when Tracks himself was not busy gossiping and causing all sorts of strife?

Tip-toeing quietly, the scientist made his way back to the room.

He hesitated, debating with himself further, before Perceptor decided to throw all caution to the wind and peek inside the rec room. He had to stifle the gasp that followed next. Soundwave was lifting Tracks from his chair, cradling the corvette close as he moved the Autobot. Tracks immediately curled into the other's chassis, stirring but not waking from recharge still. Being mindful of his partner's wings, the Decepticon moved across the room; settling down slowly on the couch. With a gesture most loving and gentle, he rearranged Tracks' position so that the corvette was now folded comfortably across his lap, helm resting on the other's chestplates. Winding his arms about the Autobot, Soundwave dimmed his visor, silently watching the other mech sleep as he too began to slip into recharge.

Deciding he was prying into an affair too private, the scientist hastily turned away from the doorway and padded softly back down the hall. All the while, wondering in awe the amount of love and devotion that a Decepticon could have for a 'bot of the opposite faction.

* * *

**xxXxXxx**

* * *

"Yo."

"Ah, Jazz," Prowl greeted distractedly as the saboteur sidled up from seemingly nowhere. "I've been wondering where you've gotten off to..."

"Really, Prowler. 'Cause wit' yer nose shov'd inta that datapad there, I say ya hardly notic'd meh absence."

The SIC sighed, pulling the report from his face. "Well, special circumstances aside, work still needs to be done around here Jazz, and I am sad to say that the Third-in-Command is currently busy sneaking about; intent on popping out and frightening every mech and femme that crosses his path."

"'Ey, c'mon! I'm bein' a ninja here!," Jazz pouted.

"Correction: trying. But you neither are nor will be a ninja. Even if your area of expertise falls under subterfuge and information collection..."

"But oth'r Jazz is a ninja...," the saboteur continued to sulk.

"And other Jazz happens to be in another dimension. Your argument is then invalid," Prowl stated. He paused, looking at the other mech oddly. "Why are you suddenly so concerned about emulating your counterpart?"

"Jus' 'cause," Jazz answered vaguely, turning and looking at the wall.

"Right...," Prowl drawled. He shuffled the datapads in his arm, continuing on his way down the hall. The Special Ops officer followed him. "Red Alert has submitted a very long and gruelling report about the laxness some of the Autobots are giving to security protocol and such. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that specifically, would you Jazz?"

"Uh... nope!"

"Mhmm... quite. In either case, where have our two guests gone off to now? I believe word is that they were found asleep in the rec room this morning, but that Tracks was quick to disappear afterwards. Soundwave is currently scouring the base for him as well. Any indication on where both might be?"

"Well...," Jazz said innocently. "I may or may not 'ave heard someone whisper 'bout Tracks dyin' 't meet his oth'r self an' runnin' off 't find Tracks, wit' a camcord'r in his possession. An' Soundwave I believe was headin' in the direction o' Wheeljack's lab, last time I check'd. Dude seem'd awfully desp'rate 't git back home an' fast. Wond'r why..."

Prowl resisted to roll his optical sensors. "Yes, I wonder why he might seem anxious to return back to his world. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the other Tracks seems overtly eager to be in our world, and flirting with almost every mech he comes across. Surely, Soundwave, despite being a Decepticon, is not at all threatened in any way by that."

"Yer a sarcastic kinda mech, ain't ya Prowler..."

"You didn't notice?"

"Nah...," Jazz grinned, "I jus' nev'r notic'd 'ow sexy ya made it."

"Well, now you know," Prowl quipped. The SIC turned up at the next corner, leaving Jazz to come to a pause just at the end of the hall. "Oh, and Jazz?"

"Yea?," the saboteur asked, looking at the Datsun curiously. Prowl glanced back over a doorwing, a smirk playing at his usually neutral faceplates.

"If you're so eager to catch my attentions, try coming into my office at the end of this shift. We can have a chat, then."

Smirk growing bigger, the SIC continued on his way, leaving a very stunned but excited saboteur behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**C.M.D: Just a forewarning, though this fic has no sex, this final chapter does have some sexual language. If it's uncomfortable, please skip the middle. It's not entirely essential to the story to read it, but it definitely adds to the humor.**

* * *

The sudden sound of crackling alarmed many of the Decepticons, who turned to the large vid screen that hung in the main control room, watching perplexed as static laced across its black visage. Slowly, an image began to come into view: orange walls bouncing as the person behind the camera turned into an open room. A multi-coloured mech with white wings turned at the unexpected entry, looking utterly horrified.

"How did you get in here?!," Tracks yelled, jumping to his pedes.

"Same way as everywhere else in this dump. Through the door," answered the second voice, exactly like the first. No guesses there who was behind the camera now. "You've been avoiding me, love. Which, I might add, is somewhat odd. Your lovely friend Jazz has been most curious to know about our world, and yet you don't even seem the faintest bit interested in meeting moi."

Tracks folded his arms over his chassis, glaring at the other. "I don't see why I would need to meet myself... It'd be like talking to the mirror. Vain and pointless."

"Ah... so you do talk to your reflection as well then!"

"W-what?! I didn't-," the corvette spluttered before scowling fiercely. "Ooh, this is exactly the reason why I didn't want to run into you in the first place! Honestly, why do you feel the need to chase me down?"

"I've just got some questions that I wanted answered," the other Tracks chirped. "I'll admit, I'm just as curious to know more about this world. I mean, I never would have guessed that Perceptor was with the Twins, or that your Optimus actually had some steel ball bearings! And to have an aerial squad? Outrageous!"

"...what is with the camera...?," Tracks asked instead, suddenly taking notice of the device. "Are you FILMING me?!"

"Oh right, say 'hello' to the pretty darlings!"

Tracks made a sound of irritation in the back of his throat. "If you're done now, can you please leave?"

"What!," the other corvette cried in dismay. "Hardly! Now, let the interview begin. I've got myself my gorgeous hunk of 'bot, but what about you? I've asked about and you haven't slept with a single mech here, with the exception of one or two here when you were over-energized. So tell me then... you saving yourself or something? Why aren't you out being fragged into oblivion, huh?! Just what is wrong with you?!""

"What is wrong with me?! What is wrong with YOU?! Just -oh, for Primus' sake! Put that bloody camera down!" Tracks stomped towards the camera, and with a swell of mischievous laughter, the other Tracks danced away. The room spun in a swirl of colours, cursing and foul muttering happening in the background, before the camera was set down upon a hard surface.

The Decepticons watched as the femme-like Tracks jumped into view, winding his arms about the other Autobot they knew so well. "Come on, love. Don't pout so much... it makes you look too sexy."

"Just what are you-," Tracks started to growl before the second corvette pressed forwards, kissing him soundly. He tried to struggle against the sudden contact, but his resolve weakened when sinful fingers curled about his wings, stroking the metal knowingly. With a moan, he tripped backwards, falling onto the berth, the other Tracks on top.

"Mmmm... lovely," the Autobot hummed, pushing himself up so that he now loomed over his counter part. "And so very sensitive darling. I wonder just how long it would take to push you into overload." Grinning wickedly, Tracks set his servos to run down the other corvette; fingers slipping past armour and playing with the wires underneath.

"G-get... o-oohh... G-g'off!," the second mech shouted, thrashing again. Tracks pouted, forced backwards some.

"Awww, c'mon. It'll be good, I promise. Think of it as 'self-service.' 'Cause, I mean... I'm servicing you. And we're not so different, no?"

The original Tracks scowled, before coldly giving the other Autobot another shove. "Apparently we're very different!"

"Oomph!" The corvette tumbled off the berth as he was shoved away finally, quickly getting up and grabbing the other's wrist. "I don't see why you have to be so against this, unless... of course! I knew it! You _are_ saving yourself!"

"Wh-wha- N-no, I-i-i-i-i'm n-not!," Tracks spluttered, blushing brightly. He looked anxiously in the opposite direction.

"You are!," the other mech squealed excitedly. "Oh, oh, tell me who! Please, you just have to!"

"I-i do not!"

"Aww, gimme a break! I am you! Of course you must tell me," Tracks pouted. His lip components quirked into a devilish smirk, optics shuttering to half-mast. "Let me guess... it's Soundwave isn't it?"

The other Autobot's blush deepened. Engine purring, Tracks pulled his counterpart back to the berth, pushing him over and sliding on top again. "I knew it! No matter which universe it is, we both love our charming, handsome communications officer! Now, now," the corvette tsked, seeing the other open his mouth, about to protest, "Don't you dare deny it, love. I know you're just _aching_. Waiting for that moment..."

Servos were on the other's frame again, sliding down shined metal. "When he grabs you, pushes you down, spreading your thighs..."

Fingers slid into seams, cooling fans kicked on as Tracks fought half-heartedly. He moaned, shivering as denta nipped as his neck cables before soft lip components soothed them with fleeting kisses. "His red gaze on you, as he silently caresses you, fingers slipping down to your waiting valve..."

A servo complied to the spoken words, cupping the corvette's codpiece.

"Where he'll tear the metal back, exposing you, and he'll take his prize without hesitation, that rogue. Fill you up, stretched wider than ever before but so pleasantly stuffed as his slides into uoy with his long, thick spi-"

"Inquiry: What is going on here?"

The sudden question startled the two corvettes, both of whom jumped, turning their helms to the doorway. "S-soundwave...," the second Tracks greeted nervously.

"This is not what it looks like!," the original Autobot cried, pushing off the other mech in one shove. "H-he came on to me first!"

Tracks pushed himself up again with a grumble. "It's not like you weren't enjoying it, liar."

"Tracks: what are you doing?" Soundwave stepped into view of the screen, his back to the camera. "Fact: was looking for you."

"Oh, well, love," the corvette smiled contritely. "I really wanted to meet my other self! But, I knew he was avoiding me, so the only way I could find him was to hunt him down. I thought though, that if you came along, he might be less obliged to speak with me. Which is why I left you so quickly this morning. But you'll never guess: he likes Soundwave too! So I was thinking... since you're here, and I'm here... and he's charged and everything... we could-"

"Nuh-uh!," Tracks shouted. "You stop right there! I am not having a threesome with you!"

"What? Why not?," the other mech pouted. "Okay, fine, how 'bout if we take turns? You can have Soundwave first, and then me!"

"Proposition: not a solution..."

"FRAG NO! TAKE YOUR CRAZY-AFT LOVER AND LEAVE MY ROOM!," Tracks yelled, turning on Soundwave.

"Demand: acknowledged. Tracks: come."

"Awww... but I really wanted us to get to, umm, _know_ each other all a little better. Are you sure you don't even want to join in on some foreplay?"

"LEAVE!"

"Well... honestly," the second Tracks huffed. "In either case," he turned to face the camera around Soundwave, winking at it. "Our modest little Tracks here," he paused to pull the other corvette down, winding his arms around his neck and kissing him again before the other could stop him. "Is aching for a certain Decepticon, with a red visor and a thick spike to come and frag us 'til he can't tell up from down. Don't keep us waiting!"

Soundwave turned at the odd gesture, finally looking behind him. "Inquiry: Is that a camera?"

"Uh..."

"O-oh for the love of... i-is that on l-live feed...?" The original Tracks blushed again, deeply, wings trembling behind him in horror. Suddenly, the connection cut, leaving the control room in flickering shades of grey light.

The Decepticons, stunned, could only shutter their optics at the vid screen stupidly.

The silence was only broken when...

"I've got a thick spike!," Blitzwing declared, lifting his hand like a sparkling at the Academy.

Astrotrain immediately smacked him upside the helm.

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**xxXxXxx**

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"Goodbye, my loves! It was fun meeting you all," Tracks stood upon the platform, waving and blowing kisses excessively. The Autobots standing below mostly grimaced, done with the corvette's melodrama. "I'll certainly have a lot of stories to tell the 'bots when I get back home!"

Another kiss blown.

"Just step up to the slagging portal, already!," Wheeljack yelled from the controls.

Tracks scowled, snorting in miff as he complied to the engineer's demand. Soundwave silently followed, eager to finally be getting home, though he didn't show it. The Autobots too, were mostly glad to see the pair about to leave.

"You know...," Silverbolt mused softly to his team, "I would have liked to get to know them a little more. This Tracks and Soundwave sure seem like interesting characters."

"Get to know them more?! Are you crazy?," Slingshot hissed back. "That vain, little braggart of a decal had the nerve to sit there and call us abominations to the Autobot cause. When he was FIRST INTRODUCING HIMSELF! I'm glad to see them go! Otherwise, I'd be showing them the door -with my fists!"

"Yes, uh, well...," the Aerialbot leader mumbled back weakly. "I suppose you're right..."

"Holy frag... the Decepticon had more manners than him!"

Jazz, passing by on his way to the front of the crowd, put a finger to his lip components, telling the flyers to zip it. They did so, mostly, not wanting to upset the saboteur. "See ya, Tracks! Soundwave!," Jazz shouted cheerfully. "Safe trip home! Ya mechs should come on back for a visit!"

"Oh," Tracks smiled, as the machine whirled to life, blue light crackling across the ring of metal before them. "I'd definitely love to come see you again. We can sit down, have a cube and trade stories!"

He dutifully ignored the looks of horror that swept across the room at such a thought. The humming of the portal increased, as electricity began to crackle loudly. Soundwave, assuming things were almost ready, took Tracks' servo; holding it tightly. The corvette turned to the Decepticon, smiling softly, as he stepped closer to the communications officer, gripping his servo back tightly.

"Frequencies are matched! Read-out stats show that the connection has been made!," Perceptor shouted over the rising gale.

"On the count of five," Wheeljack yelled. "One... two... three... four... FIVE!"

Light flashed, blinding all the mechs present, as Tracks and Soundwave stepped through the portal; with a choking, cough, the light faded. Smoke whirled between 'bots' pedes, the air filled with the creaking and groan of the machine as it began to power down.

"Finally!," Wheeljack groaned. "They're gone! No more weirdos from another dimension!"

"Uh... Wheeljack...," Perceptor started quietly.

"W-where are we?," a voice coughed. "Sentinel? Ratchet?"

"S-sir, Ratchet not here..."

"...but are us being! Where here is ever..."

"...wonderful..."

The smoke finally cleared and the Autobots stared on in unadulterated horror. Before their optics was the strangest batch of 'bots they every did see. A set of younglings, one orange and the other blue, a lanky mech, with no face and a pair of antlers on the side of his helm, and another that looked strangely like Optimus...

Wheeljack, sobbing, slammed his helm into the console.

"...'ere we go again...," Ironhide sighed.

Jazz shouted happily.

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**xxXxXxx**

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The scent of acrid smoke filled his olfactory sensors, clogging his intakes and making it impossible to see. Still gripping Soundwave's servo, Tracks tripped to the floor, cursing as he felt something get scratched in the process. Soundwave though, was kind enough to pick him back up, servos wandering along his frame, checking for injuries.

"Inquiry: are you alright?," the Decepticon asked.

The smoke was beginning to finally clear. "I...," Tracks coughed, grimacing, "I-i think so... Slaggit... Wheeljack and his fragging inventions. Can't he design something that doesn't end with smoke and scratches for once?! I mean, just look at me!"

The corvette straightened up, looking at his chassis in disgust. "I'm just filthy now! Urgh, this is going to take forever to get off!"

Soundwave said nothing, pulling a spare rag out of subspace and wiping gently at Tracks' cheek arches. "Status: not that bad. Problem easily solved."

"Hmmm... well, in either case, let's hurry on back to our quarters. I need a shower, pronto! I don't even care if Megatron wants to see us. He can wait until I'm presentable again."

The Autobot went to stride forward, when he suddenly noticed that they weren't on the Nemesis. In fact, though the colour was somewhat the same, the entire area was... off. Confused, he looked about himself. The design... it reminded him somewhat of the Elite Guard ship, the Steel Haven. But... certainly this couldn't be the same ship! The room they were in was much too weird!

What screw-loose Autobot had chains and leather straps dangling from the ceiling, with spikes and cuffs permanently welded onto the posts of the berth?

The door swished open behind them, and the pair turned to see who their new guest was.

"Well now...," the stranger purred, red optics sparkling behind the frames perched on his faceplates as he took in the unexpected sight in his room. The second corvette stretched out across the doorway, one servo fingering the barbed whip attached at his hip while a sinister, lustful smirk tugged on his lip components. "What do we have here?"

Tracks gaped, at a loss for words. He didn't know what to say, even when Soundwave quickly shuffled behind him, as if suddenly afraid.

That mech before him, painted in hues of purple and dark red... that couldn't possibly be him!

"Fragging Wheeljack!"

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**C.M.D: And, yes, they dropped into TFA Shattered Glass 'verse. How fortunate for them! Well, that's all folks~ Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!**


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